


One Night in the DCU

by Evilpixie



Category: DCU
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Language, Light Bondage, Love, Romance, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night. Six couples. Things happen. Mostly sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sun and Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would give the world some canon couple love! Also heterosexual. Because both are in surprising shot supply. Love to the love interests!
> 
> Note: Feel free to jump ahead to chapters with your preferred pairing if you would rather not wade through the others. While there is a vague thread of story between them it doesn't REALLY matter if you only read one. The couples appear in the order they are listed in the tags.
> 
> Enjoy!

The sun was low and heavy in the sky; a murky disk of gold among the purple and red knotting of distant cloud. Below, the sea danced a slow, tantalizing, waltz; waves tipped white, surf slinking sleepily up the gritty grey sand of the beach, and body broken only by the jagged teeth of land reaching out in a rough rocky outcrop.

 

Mera removed her headdress in a single, fluid, motion and dropped it in the sand at her feet. Slid the blood spotted green scaling of her clothing off and threw it absently aside.

 

Naked her skin was pale, her flesh unmarked, and the shape of her body bold and unashamed of its beauty. Large proud breasts overshadowed a smooth flat stomach, hips angled in sharp design from her body, and her back arched naturally into the full round shape of her behind. Between her legs a sleek line of red hair slid in a narrow trail.

 

Arthur watched as she stepped wordlessly into the sea, shivered once as her bare skin touched the cold water, and dove sleek and soundlessly into the welcoming undercurrent of a moving wave.

 

He watched her move with impossible speed through the tide; a flash of white and red; whole body moving in an effortless dolphin kick.

 

He watched as she drew back up onto the beach, shrugged her long tresses of red from her face, and slumped with a quiver of used muscle across the wet sun warmed sand; shamelessly stretching her limbs and letting the foam wash over her naked form.

 

“Sometimes I miss the cities of the sea,” she said. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft. He only heard it with the aid of his own enhanced hearing. “But then I recall that there was crime there too. Even in Atlantis. I never saw it, I never fought it, but it was there; as bloody and ugly as here.” Green eyes closed. “But here… here I can feel the sun.” A curve of full lip. “As a girl I always used to wonder what the sun looked like from the surface. We all did. We never wondered what it would feel like. Never knew warmth that didn’t come from bodies, volcanic vents, and boiling soup. There is no fire. No sun. Even as the sun dies again…” she sighed. “It gives warmth to the world.”

 

“As a boy I used to wonder what my mother looked like,” Arthur answered.

 

Her eyes opened. Emerald and set between sharp, spiked, lashes. Stray strands of hair splashed across the angled line of her face.

 

“My dad called her a mermaid,” he continued, eyes locked onto hers. “The woman that stepped out of the sea, covered in golden scale, and claimed him as her surface lover… she must have been beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like to see a queen of the sea here, on this beach.”

 

She stretched; body moving with the predatory grace of a slow moving shark.

 

“Both little boy and girl have had their questions answered,” she purred. “I can see the sun. You can see your sea queen.”

 

He lifted an eyebrow. “Queen?”

 

“Yes,” she said; watched him through heavy lidded eyes. “We are getting married, my king. I have decided.”

 

The sun touched the horizon and for a moment there were two suns; one bold and red in the sky and the second a shivering reflection moving over the turbulent twists and twirls of the sea. They kissed; sun and sun; and then died together. The sea and sky remembered them with a brilliant blaze of red rimmed cloud.

 

“As you command, my queen.”

 

“Come here, Arthur.”

 

He did.

 

Pulled off his gloves and dragged his golden scale armour over his head before tossing both aside on the gritty grey sand. Mera’s gaze roamed with unembarrassed appreciation over his naked chest and stopped to rest, an unspoken demand, on the glittering symbol resting on his belt and the clinging fabric of his pants. He obeyed; removed the belt in a single slow movement and pulled the wetsuit skin of his clothing down to kick it aside.

 

Naked, the chilly sea wind brought an unseasonable shiver to his body.

 

He sunk down beside her, groaned as warm wet limps wrapped around his shoulders, and leant forward to press an open mouthed kiss onto her full lips. The sand was warm, the sea cold, and their bodies hot where they crushed together. With every wave that rolled over them her hair billowed from her body in hot red flashes of colour. They inhaled the water and the air in an uncaring combination, sunk into the moist sand as the sea sucked the beach from below, and entangled their limps as he entered her under a cooling sky.

 

Mera arched into him; her full breasts heavy, soft, and tipped with pert pink nipples that stood erect from the soft mounds of pale flesh. Red hair wrapped and splashed around her in wild tangles. Hips rocked to match his as green eyes disappeared behind sinking eyelids.

 

Beautiful.

 

Beautiful in a way that didn’t exist on the surface world; an assured, confident, uninhibited beauty that wasn’t seen as a strength or a weakness; that wasn’t wielded or washed away behind self doubt. She was beautiful, she knew it, and she didn’t care.

 

Her collarbone ducked in and out of view as she gasped for breath, ribs heaved and quivered, and her white cheeks coloured with two highpoints of scarlet. Hands reached up to explore the shape of his chest; the bunch and buckle of muscle, the sharp line of his protruding hips, and the tense swell of his shoulders above her.

 

He planted his hands on the sand either side of her head, leant forward, and sunk his face between the valley of her breasts. Tasted the salt, the sweetness, and the vibrant flavour of her sex rising from her skin as he gently tracked his mouth up and sucked slowly, sensually, on a pronounced nipple.

 

Mera gasped and dug her fingernails into his back.

 

Around her, buried in the sand, tens of burrowed craps and shelled life seemed to sense the urgent, shared, heat of activity and scuttled through water logged tunnels with shivering, skittering, steps. Nearby a baby octopus danced with a kelp; joyfully marvelling at the movement of the plant in a strange erotic swirl. Two tiny reef sharks circled each other just off the shore; fascinated at the strange parallel beauty of the other animal. Deeper, out across the bay, a family of dolphins sung with unmotivated pleasure and frolicked in the open waves.

 

They shared in his pleasure without realising it and he shared in theirs. Let the voice of the sea, teaming with all forms of life, wash over him as he held the green eyed water maniuplator under him and felt the welcoming wet of her walls tighten around him.

 

He shuddered and returned his mouth to hers as he drove into her; faster, harder, and with enough force to issue a long, strangled, cry from her pale throat. The hands on his shoulders held him hard enough to crush the bodywork of a car.

 

They came together.

 

Her cry triggering the clench and release within him. He groaned, ground into her with enough force to crush cement, and grabbed fistfuls of wet, blood coloured hair. Her eyes shone despite the descending darkness, lips curved into a teasing smile, and voice purred in unshaped unguarded pleasure.

 

“Arthur…”

 

“Mera…”

 

He slumped onto the sand beside her and sighed as the last heat of the day finally melted from the tiny particles leaving them cool and rough under his skin.

 

She moved to drape herself across him; kissed, licked, and tasted the skin on his neck, jaw, and finally lips with the slow loving movement he had come to know from her. In battle Mera was a fierce and deadly warrior, in life she was passionate and proud, but together… together they were comfort, compassion, and caring; they were the strength that kept each other standing; they were a love affair that defied destinies. A destiny for an unwanted throne, a destiny as an assassin, and a destiny as enemies; unrealised in the wake of each others love.

 

“You’re so beautiful…”

 

“You always say that.”

 

As darkness surrounded them he fell between her legs to lick, kiss, and taste the still steaming wetness there, now spiced with his own ejaculate, even as high tide began to swallow them in a thick clean cold embrace. Her musical cries were lost to the crashing of waves on rock.


	2. Moments in Minutes

“What happened?”

 

“You know I can’t tell you that, Iris.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “We’re engaged, Barry.”

 

“And I’m still working with criminal investigations and crime prevention,” he said apologetically. “I can’t release statements. Especially not to journalists that specialize in violent crime.”

 

He looked unimpressed.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You came home with two broken bones, Barry.”

 

“They’re gone now.”

 

“I know their gone. That’s not the point. The reporter on the scene was a bloody coward and didn’t get a good look but he did say that Aquaman and Aquawoman…”

 

“Mera.”

 

“…were there. Was the rest of the Justice League? Just for a shoot out? And what kind of gunman can catch you? What’s the story?” Lower. “Should I be worried?”

 

“We took care of it,” he assured her.

 

“ _We_ ,” a critical look. “So, that’s a ‘yes’ on the Justice League.”

 

Barry blinked. “I… look… it’s not important… we took care of it.”

 

Iris stood leant back on the couch and tossed her head over the armrest. Her hair fell in neat straight strands of coppery red, skin was gently speckled with a forgiving amount of golden freckles, and eyes framed with long dark lashes that dusted her cheeks as she blinked up at the ceiling.

 

Her short, neat, heels sat polished and black on his lap. Beneath her legs were coloured a dusky brown through the skin of her tights. The neat pencil skirt she wore was rumbled and slid high over soft thighs, her shirt tugged to the side revealing the edge of a purple bra, and her simple sweet makeup slightly smudged.

 

He slid his fingers under the strap of one of her shoes and gently slipped it from her foot. Repeated the action for the other.

 

He cocked an eyebrow. “Bold move, Mr. Alan,” she said; voice deep and stately. “I won’t forget your tight lips for a foot massage.”

 

He grinned. “Foot massage?” He tugged at the silky skin of her tights and watched as her eyes widened. “Not _quite_ what I had in mind.”

 

“Oh ho! _Very_ bold, Mr. Alan,” she said, kicking him playfully. “But, you’ll have to try something _a bit_ smother than that. It’s not yet the shank of the evening and I’m angry at you, remember?”

 

He feigned astonishment. “You’re angry at me?”

 

“Your tight lips?”

 

“Hmm…?” He looked at her in mock confusion.

 

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I hate them.”

 

“Hmm…”

 

He moved in a deliberately slow crawl up the lazily sprawl of her body to press his lips against hers. As usual the woman responded with warm welcome, eyelashes brushed closed against his cheek, and tongue slipped through his teeth to gently trace the inner line of his lips, teeth, and tongue.

 

He let himself sink down on top of her; felt the press of buttons, underwire, and her small firm breasts against his chest; the slow slide of her foot as it traced the back of his calf up to hitch on his hip; and the sharp points of her hips bones poke into his.

 

Slowly, so slowly, she explored the inside of his mouth, moved her other leg up to wrap around him, and ground into him with a gentle roll of hip.

 

His body processed information fast enough to carefully count the wing beats of a bee, to see the elements of gas and a spark combine on the head of a lighter, and to step around bullets as they spilled from the barrel of a gun. To be touched by her, held by her, and feel her warm and wanton below him but know it would be a minute at least before he could find satisfaction… a minute that would stretch like hours as she exhaled hot, sweet, air against his mouth… it was a strange, beautiful, and cruel, torture.

 

He drew back.

 

Too fast.

 

She flinched at the blur of movement and smiled cheekily up at him. Her pulse fluttered like the wings of bee…

 

“Slow down, Barry,” she said. The words stretched and distorted. “Slow down.”

 

He watched her take a breath, and shared it. Breathed with her. Slow, steady, and stilling. Allowed the beating of his heart to sink back towards normal and tried to pretend her pulse didn’t flutter like the wings of a bee. So slow it terrified him. So slow he would watch her sleep and irrationally wonder if he would age and die in the time it took her to wake.

 

Her lips twisted coyly. “Am I too slow for you?”

 

“Never.”

 

Her hand snaked around and squeezed his hip. That small motion invoked a violent shiver as he felt, slowly, in detail, every point pressed under the sharp jab of her fingertips.

 

“Perfect… just the perfect kind of slow…”

 

She kept him slow. Kept him alive. Stopped him disappearing into the speed force or aging eighty years in eighty seconds. For her he would run through life slow enough to be able to hold her hand. And in these moments; the pain, the pleasure, of holding still and steady as she touched him with such agonizing slowness… such painful pleasure...

 

“Tell me,” she crooned. “How does it feel?”

 

She reached between them and slid her finger just under the rim of his pants. Trailed around the line of his lower abdominals, over a hip, and around to the swell of his arse and back. The second hand clicked by once during the process. It felt like an eternity had gone by.

 

“Good. It feels good.”

 

She repeated the action and he squirmed under the abuse.

 

“Good,” he gasped. “Good… good… good good goodgoodgoodgoodgoodgood…”

 

She laughed as his words slurred beyond her understanding and he shrugged her fingers free with a grunt. Crushed their groins together and vibrated against her. Her chuckle broke off with a shrill yelp of surprise as her whole body shuddered violently through a wave of pleasure.

 

Their mouths crushed together, arms wrapped in a messy embrace, and tongues tangled as they moaned into their open mouthed kiss. She shivered as he finally hooked his fingers under her skirt and pulled down the silky skin of her tights fast enough the movement would be lost to her eyes. Her skirt followed and the purple lace of her underwear wasn’t far behind.

 

“You’re lucky…” she began as their mouths parted.

 

He fell between her legs and vibrated his tongue against the small swollen head of her cleft.

 

“…I _really_ like that…”

 

She bucked against him, closed her eyes, and dug her fingers into the padded cushions of the couch.

 

“…because otherwise you being fast… ah!... would really… hmm… suck…”

 

He paused, struggled to stay still long enough for her to notice the lack of movement, and then fell forward to obediently suck greedily at the wet warmth of her opening. Tasted the familiar hot slick, nestled his nose into the soft curls of hair, and touched the very tip of his vibrating tongue to her clitoris. Her voice broke into a fevered scream.

 

“Bar--"

 

He loved how slow she was. How he could stop and watch her come for him in long-drawn-out detail; the lingering spike of colour flushing to her cheeks, the gradual collapse of her brow and slow part of her mouth. Best of all was the drawn out ring of her cry as it slowly sounded out his name.

 

"--rry!"

 

He watched her leisurely as she rode out the tide of her orgasm before darting back between her legs and stimulating her body into a quick fire second and third. Fast enough it would just feel like one continuous peak of pleasure that kept getting mounting higher under the chaotic abuse of his tongue.

 

His tongue moving at almost mach-2.

 

Fourth. Fifth. She clawed at her hair and bucked desperately into his face. Sixth. Seventh. She screamed breathlessly and buried a hand into his hair. Eighth. Ninth. Her body was drenched in sweat and the smell of sex. Tenth. Eleventh. Her lips stammered around the start of a sentence. Twelfth. Thirteen.

 

“Too…”

 

Fourteen. Fifteen.

 

“…much…”

 

Sixteen. Seventeen.

 

“Now!”

 

He drew back and tore their remaining clothes off in a flurry of movement. Her shirt burst open to reveal the simple satin purple bra cupping two pert pretty breasts and a soft fluid body heaving through the throes of pleasure. He freed his aching member with a groan, fumbled with his jeans until he pulled out the condom, and slid it on. He fell on top of her. Entered her.

 

Eighteen was shared.

 

He grunted as she cried out in hopeless abandon, face flushed a furious red, and body shining with a sheen of sweat.

 

He thrust into her a few more times before collapsing on top with a shuddering sigh.

 

Caught in the rush of relief and raw rendering of his orgasm the world seemed to stop. Outside he could see a small grey bird, wings spread in flight, darting across the star speckled sky. In the distance a firecracker starburst in the sky with a shimmer of slowly moving light. The night. Young. Fresh. Clean. Caught in a moment. A moment he shared for minutes as the rush of pleasure assulted his senses and left him drifting and weary in a way that hours of running couldn't.

 

The birds wings beat, the firecracker popped to the delight of the children in the street below, and Iris moaned in his ear.

 

“Fuck… you’re… amazing.”

 

“You too…” he panted.

 

“I’m still angry at you,” she reminded him with a kiss to the side of his face.

 

“Damn,” he grinned at her. “Give me thirty seconds and I’ll do it again.”

 

Her lip curled. “You’ve got fifteen. See if you can make it longer than a minute this time.”

 

“What? It was…” he saw the clock and flushed. “Sorry.”

 

“Hey,” she wrapped her arms around him. “With the amount you fit into that minute, Barry; I really don’t mind.”

 

Her kiss was like molten lava. Hot, consuming, and yet still gradual in its advance. He sunk into it. Indulged in it. Marvelled at it. At her. At the simple, honest, beauty of the woman who held him anchored in time.

 

The cheeky copper colour of her eyes that could stop him, the deep undeniably female voice that held him captive, and the breathtaking movement of her mouth as she sealed his fate; tied her to him with no more than an unspoken promise of a lifetime together and the love that would make it theirs.

 

She pulled back, slid a hand between them to feel his progress, and quirked an eyebrow when she found his errection.

 

“Right on time.”

 

“I was ready a few seconds ago,” he confessed.

 

Her smile was small, sweet, and yet somehow held all the authority, the majesty, of a Queen.

 

“Sometimes, I just love you, Barry Allen.”


	3. Violet Vices

Hal knew who she was.

 

Despite the clothes, the hat, and the resolute turn of her shoulder, he knew.

 

There was only one woman in the universe that moved _quite_ like that. There was only one woman shaped _quite_ like that. There was only one who could capture his attention _quite_ like that.

 

“Carol.”

 

He shrugged off the women massing around him and pushed through the tangle of bodies packed onto the rainbow lit dance floor. Hands groped with wonton freedom, lights spun in dizzying circles, and the music looped an electronic beat. A strange woman stepped forward and blocked his view of the bar and his quarry to press a vodka flavoured kiss to his lips. He pushed her aside and ploughed on. Reached the bar and looked around for the absent woman. Saw her disappearing around the other end of the nightclub behind a table full of multicoloured cocktails and glow stick adorned party goers.

 

“Carol!”

 

He saw the woman’s head turn. Saw a trickle of midnight black hair fall teasingly around a pale, sharp, profile.

 

She turned abruptly and strode towards the toilets nestled in the corner of the nightclub. He raced after her, barrelled through a group of giggling women, and charged uncaring into the bathroom after her. Seized her arm.

 

“Carol.”

 

The woman spun around and yanked herself free. “It’s _Helen_ ,” the stranger corrected him tartly. “And this is the _ladies._ ”

 

He blinked in astonishment at the proud round face glaring sternly at him under a bob of blonde hair. Curved flushed features and a curled flaxen mane. He could have sworn…

 

“Get out!”

 

He backed away and collided with a second woman vacating the stalls. Unnaturally purple eyes flashed between catlike lashes, thin shapely lips sat low on a sharp heart shaped face, and dark hair hung impossibly straight from above a brow touched with sculpted eyebrows.

 

His heart stuttered.

 

“Carol.”

 

“Hal.” She said his name like it was a curse.

 

“Carol, I need to talk to--”

 

A blaze of violet light smacked into him and knocked him spinning into the mirror. The strange woman screamed as he fell in a shower of shattered glass onto the yawning maws of the sinks below. Automatic taps triggered and splashed water across the fake marble, glass covered, counter.

 

“Carol! Can’t we just--”

 

He threw himself to the floor as a second beam of light smashed into the wall. Tile, grout, and plaster splintered and spat into the air. Rained down onto the floor with a discordant sequence of chinks and chimes.

 

“Carol! You’re being irrational!”

 

A third blast of hot purple shot through the air towards him. He held up his fist and a green barrier burst from his ring. The purple parted around it like water around a rock; did devastating damage to the room either side of him.

 

“Nice move, Hal.”

 

“Eh… thanks.”

 

The blonde woman took the opportunity to scuttle with a shrill shriek across the room and throw open the door. She collided with a collection of security guards who stared gaping at the scene.

 

A wall of violet light slammed into them, throwing them violently back into the nightclub, before slamming the door with a crash. Locked it with a thick barrier of energy.

 

“I thought we’d want to be alone for this,” she said. Her voice was soft. Deadly.

 

“Carol,” he tried again. “I don’t want to fight you.”

 

“Good.”

 

Her discreet coat vanished in a flare of brilliant purple light to be replaced with the blazing uniform of a Star Sapphire. The veins in her clothing shivered with violet energy, the closefitting fabric defined the shape of her taunt muscles, and the exposed skin glowed with fierce fiery life. Affixed to the middle of her crown was a small purple gem of alien energies that stood proud in the sharp insignia of her faction.

  


The Star Sapphires.

  


“It’ll be easier to kill you," she concluded with a hiss.

 

“Oh come on." He cried. "I thought we were over this.”

 

“You broke my heart, Hal,” she spat. “I am an avatar of love! I can’t just… get over that!”

 

“Carol,” he gingerly straightened and lowered his glowing ring. “I’m sorry. God above, you know that.”

 

“Do I?” She sneered. “You’ve never been sorry for anything, Hal. Least of all the freedom that _thing_ on your finger gives you.” Her eyes burnt bright enough to cast elongated shadows across her face. Haunting and vengeful. “You don’t know what it means to be sorry, Hal. But I do. Because I am. I am sorry I ever fell in love with you. I am sorry these powers prevent me falling out of love with you. I am sorry for what I’m about to do now.”

 

Hal threw up his shields a moment too late. The bolt of purple struck him square in the chest and slammed him against the far wall. The battering-ram of energy quickly unfurled and tangled around him. Pinned him wide into the wall. One tendril of purple yanked the ring off his finger and dropped it to clatter among the rubble of the room on the floor.

 

“Carol. I thought you didn’t want me,” he said as she slowly approached. “I swear. Can’t we just… okay, these are getting kind of tight now… but that’s not the problem. I’m so sorry and… I mean it. But there is nothing else I can say. If there was I would say it.” He gritted his teeth as the power around him flexed like a constrictor. “Please, can you take off the star sapphire? It changes you.”

 

“Your ring changes you,” she hissed.

 

“Okay, I won’t argue,” he said slowly. “But, if you would notice, I have let you disarm me. So…”

 

“You _let_ me?!” She said incredulously.

 

“Well…” he grinned. “Yeah.”

 

“You’re _such_ an arse!”

 

Beyond the barrier keeping the door closed he could hear raised voices. Outside there was a whoop of police sirens.

 

“I know you won’t kill me, Carol,” he said. “I know you’re better than that.”

 

“No,” she growled. “You don’t.”

 

“Then why did you save me today?”

 

A weighted pause.

 

“The shooting, at Gotham,” he said encouragingly. “Flash had broken his leg and I…”

 

“I know what I did,” she snapped. “It…” she closed her eyes. “Damn you, Hal. I was meant to be over you… Damn you…”

 

“Out of interest,” he said with forced cheeriness. “What were you and those villains planning on doing with all that stuff?”

 

“I’m a villain now too,” she reminded him with a sad smile.

 

“Yeah…” his voice faltered. “I know.”

 

A strange look passed over unnaturally violet tinted eyes. She drifted forward under a halo of pulsating energy and leant forward to swipe once at his bottom lip. Her fingertips came away dark red with lipstick.

 

“Hey,” he wriggled nervously in his bindings as he remembered the fleeting kiss on the dance floor. “ _She_ kissed _me_.”

 

She slapped him.

 

“Ouch! Hey! I was innocent! That wasn’t…”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Her lips collided with his in a starved kiss. He groaned and roughly welcomed the fierce attack of teeth and tongue with a token defence before submitting to the forceful press. Her body, alight with alien energy, pressed against him; her teeth caught and bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and her hands roughly explored his body even as the tendrils of purple power around him probed hungrily at his clothes.

 

As their lips broke he opened his eyes.

 

Saw the exposed flesh, the tight fitting costume, and the woman, Carol, glaring death at him from where she floated, still pressed against his body.

  


So perfect. So sexy.

 

“Um… well…” he lifted half his mouth in a teasing grin. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

 

The twisting ropes of energy tightened painfully around him. “Never,” she whispered. Crushed her lips against his for a second, penetrative, plundering, kiss.

 

Kissing Carol was as dizzying and addictive as always; as forward and forceful as a sugar high but twice as sweet, as easy and painless as a jelly vodka but four times as dangerous, and as beautiful as… as only she could be.

 

He leant into her as she drew back; prolonging the contact as long as he could before their lips finally parted with a small wet sound.

 

“Ring or plane; nothing has flown me as high as you, baby.”

 

“God damn you, Hal,” she whispered.

 

He gasped as she grabbed his jeans and roughly pulled them down.

 

“Hey, baby, this isn’t…”

 

“I told you already,” she growled. “Shut up.”

  


She freed his half swollen member, squeezed the base, and slid her tongue once along his underside to lap almost thoughtfully at his head. Hal groaned and bucked forward. Whined as she dropped him and stood, a small, cruel smile playing on the corners of her lips.

 

“Babe?”

 

“Call me that one more time and I’ll kill you.”

 

His mouth fell easily into the natural smile. “Oh come on, babe.”

 

A coil of violent light spilt from the gem in her crown and wrapped around his hips. Snaked forward to entangle his twitching cock in a body of painfully tight electric warmth.

 

“You’re such an arse.”

 

“You know, I’ve missed these… Ah!”

 

Her lip curled. “What was that, Hal? I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.”

 

“F-fuck… Carol!”

 

“Missed it again,” she called. “One more time, _babe_.”

 

The energy around his penis was shifting, throbbing, and twisting. It crushed him tight enough and burnt hot enough to be painful. Yet it still moved with precise knowledge of how to make him come as quickly, and violently, as possible. He thrashed, rocked his hips, and moaned in hopeless need as his pleasure spiked through the pain.

 

Somewhere at the back of his mind he was aware of the hammering on the sealed door. He could hear the shouts of the police and security on the scene. He could feel his ring rolling abandoned on the floor.

 

None of it mattered.

 

Because, despite the pain, despite the ache in his trapped arms, and despite the smirk of the woman as she viciously and victoriously watched him squirm… there was no one who could make him come _quite_ like Carol Ferris.

 

He yammered nonsensical broken sentences as he came. He heard the words please, more, and enough. He heard the words hers, babe, and beautiful. He heard the words I, love, and you. He didn’t know if they were together. He didn’t know if they were spoken loud enough to be heard even if they were. He doubted it would mean anything anyway.

 

Through the fog of his crushing orgasm he felt a soft pair of lips brush against his, felt the cool, vibrating, body of his ring pushed over the knuckle of his first finger, and felt the air of the outside world as a hole was blasted in the wall and the would be villainess made her escape.

 

Once she was gone her power failed and he fell to all fours with a pained gasp as the assault of pleasure eased. The door began to open and he quickly threw up his own bright green wall to prevent it. Struggled to his feet and desperately tried to compose himself in a shard of mirror still remaining attached to the wall. It was hopeless. There was no way anyone would look at him and not know he'd just come. Come for a women who had flown into the night with a blaze of love fueled light.

 

He looked out the gaping hole in the wall into the darkness beyond. Night was swiftly approaching its blackest despite the rainbow neon glow of the nightclub district and the accusing glare of the highway traffic snaking back into the distance.

 

His ring flared, clothes melted away, and uniform appeared in a flash of emerald light.

 

He’d give her a two minute head start.


	4. Animals on the Abyss

Midnight descended on Gotham and brought with it a haunting, unnatural, silence.

 

The usual whoop and wail of sirens stilled, the seemingly constant cries for help shuttered to a halt, and above the branding beacon of light that printed his symbol across the belly of the cloud winked out.

 

Not peace.

 

A stalemate.

 

Everyone retreated to their trenches, loaded their guns, and waited for the revealing light of dawn to take stock of the damage done. Waiting for the other man to make the first move. The city, a blistered and bruised no mans land, stood strong and scarred for the next assault. Stood despite the rot eating away at her foundations, stood despite the darkness that threatened every night to rip her down, and stood with him.

 

His city.

 

Alluring, dangerous, destructive.

 

Gotham.

 

Bruce crouched on the flat back of a gargoyle leering off the OldWayneTower and glared down at the beastly yet beautiful sprawl of her streets. Streets that had given birth to his mission, swallowed his life, and stolen his heart. Streets that stood strangely still, strangely silent, and yet tense with frightened anticipation; like the breath before the storm.

 

The air was humid and hot, and shimmered off the recently emptied highways; the allies deserted but for the huddled forms of the homeless and stay addicts wandering hopeless for their next fix; and beyond it all the towering shafts of the economic giants glittered in the darkness.

 

“Quiet night.”

 

The woman flipped down from the overhanging roof edge and landed gracefully on the gargoyle’s wing. She’d recently abandoned any pretence of a mask and blinked at him with almond shaped green eyes surrounded by the short spikes of black hair that escaped the hood of her costume. The only remaining resemblance to the animal she impersonated stood in the form of two sharp ears crowning her skull.

 

“Ms. Kyle,” he greeted her.

 

“Mr. Wayne,” she purred in reply.

 

That was all.

 

She slunk around the stone wing of the gargoyle and moved to slide her body against his. Mouths met in a tongue touched exchange, bodies pressed firmly together, and limbs entwined.

 

They never said much during these exchanges, never bothered with seduction, nor explanation. Because there was no explanation that could make sense of them like this, together, on the sharp spires of Gotham city’s rooftops. There was no formula that could unravel the secret that kept them coming back to each other despite all that stood between them and all that could never be. There was nothing that could rationalize her and him as they fell back against the stone body of the building and ground together with a mix of grunts and deep throated purrs.

 

So they didn’t try.

 

He pulled her against him, his back to the wall, and tore the hood from her head to sink his teeth hungrily into interlocking muscle where shoulder became neck. She arched into the rough scrape of his teeth; dangling most of her body uncaring over the drop below the narrow gutter they balanced on, now back from the body of the gargoyle; and moaned.

 

Wanton. Wild.

 

The fierce passionate creature that wielded her sexuality like a weapon, that survived without retreat in the thick black heart of Gotham, and that claimed him as surely as he took her with a untamed abandon he could never allow himself. Could never unleash.

 

She dragged him from her neck with the rough touch of claw tipped fingers, drew his lips back to hers, and moaned into his mouth. He slid his hands up the curve of her hip, along the sleek shape of her shuddering thighs, and against her throat. Equipt with the precise and practised knowledge of her costume, he slid the zipper down in one movement. Applying just enough pressure that she rocked dangerously, unhindered, over the twenty story drop yawning hungry at her heels.

 

She arched an eyebrow as he opened the close fitting cat suit; exposing the swell of her full breasts, the rib touched shape of her abdominal, and the slight hairless bludge of her pubic bone. Slid his gloved fingers into the black leather and felt the curved ridge of her spine, the smooth satin of her skin interrupted by a small collection of scars, and the flex and shiver of the muscle there. Moved around to cup and claim her breasts in a rough grasp, slid his thumbs with brutal care across erect nipples, and returned his mouth to her throat; higher now, touching his teeth almost threateningly to her jugular.

 

She groaned.

 

He loved the sounds she made. Loved that she made all the sounds he couldn’t bring himself to make. Couldn’t let go of himself long enough to make.

 

Instead he snarled, bit, sucked, and marked the soft white flesh of her throat before brutally reclaiming her lips, teeth, and mouth in a crushing, open, kiss. Seized and chewed her bottom lip when she gagged on his tongue.

 

The artificial petrol fuelled warmth of the city, the rough cold scrape of the gothic stonework, and the stiff confinement of his suit assaulted him in a whirlwind of opposing senses. Her hands explored the shape of suit, claw tipped fingers traced the seams of stiff hybrid fabric, and the heel of her palm reached down to rub hard against the armour that encased his cock.

 

He drew back.

 

She leant against him, exposed from her throat down to her navel, and falling out of the gaping confines of her uniform as she sucked in a shuddering breath of night air. Her lips were red, wet, and ravaged; her hair a wild tangle of black around her head; and her eyes heavy lidded and dilated with desire. A scattering of bite marks already trekked remorselessly from her bottom lip down her pale neck.

 

She was beautiful, alluring, and untameable… all the things he could never say aloud… all the traits shared with the predatory city sprawled dangerous and tempting below their precarious perch. A city that could claim them with just an unexpected breath of wind. Tangled as they were they wouldn’t be able to push apart and reach their tools in time. Wouldn’t be able to save each other from the plunge that would end their lives.

 

The danger was intoxicating and brutally erotic.

 

Their private _danse macabre_ performed between dark clad bodies on the brink of a building once built to symbolise the unhidden freedom of the city below. The treacherous city that was as addictive and demanding a mistress as the woman now crushed against his body.

 

She deftly unbuckled and removed his belt. Tossed is casually aside before the fail safe triggered. It landed, by design or by luck he wasn’t sure, on the crocked horn of the gargoyle. He grunted as a clawed hand slid under the bullet resistant fabric of his shirt and slowly, deliberately, scratched red lines across his exposed skin.

 

It was how she usually chose to mark him.

 

“Now,” he growled.

 

She purred her appreciation and obeyed. Pulled open the front of his costume and released his aching member. He was hard, slick, and erect in the palm of her hand. She playfully palmed his cock as she ground the hard smooth shape of her pelvic bone against the shape of his thigh. Headless of how much of her was over the lip of the ledge she stood on one leg, folded the other behind her, and reached into her boot to pull out a condom.

 

Held it up to his lips.

 

He obediently ripped open the package with his teeth and hungrily bit her fingers before they could retreat.

 

She made another sound. Another greedy, lustful, sound he wished he could make. Wild. Unkempt. Free.

 

A breath of wind sent them rocking dangerously on the precipice and she groaned in delight, slipped her hand between their bodies, and slid the condom on in a swift, expert, motion. Wrapped her arms around his armoured neck and locked her thighs around his hips. Engulfed him in a single, sure, thrust of hip.

 

She was wet, tight, and warm. Her walls quivered around his length, her entrance pressed against his navel, and her depth swallowed him to the hilt. Moist, firm, and shifting with hidden muscle.

 

A low moan fell from her lips as she pulled herself up to steal another tooth touched kiss. Moved against him in a slow, agonizing, grind before tightening her arms around his neck. Using that hold as an anchor she propped her legs against the stonework behind him and used it to levy herself away from him and back. Began to ride him with an entourage of ready, needful, noise.

 

He planted his feet on the stone gutter and bucked forward to meet her hips with every decent. Their bodies smacked together with a wet messy sound, lips broke as she cried out in undisguised want, and muscles trembled as he reached around to seize her hips and drag her against him faster, harder.

 

He reattached his mouth to her neck; tasting, marking, and moving on as she lapped with fervours passion at the shape of the cowl. He felt her lick one pointed ear as he forcefully set a punishing pace; fast full strokes that issued small groans and sighs from the woman even as she flinched from the abuse.

 

The air reeked of sweat, sex, and the dark erotic sweet spice that was Selina. Hot, heavy, and humid; blown away with every teasing gust of wind. Her pale skin was flushed with colour, the green of her eyes almost lost to the dilation of her pupils, and the pout of her swollen lips moving around small, frantic, gasps of air.

 

As they both came to crest he spun around; danced on the deadly edge of orgasm across the abyss to pin her into the wall, snarl in dark unspoken promise, and pound into her with the urgency of the dying. They came together; her voice crying out for both of them as a shared wave of violent pleasure crashed through their linked bodies. Left them trembling, raw, and shaking as their lips came together one final time.

 

Open mouthed, raw, and yet still strangely silent and secretive… still flavoured with the lie of love that lay between them, the mutual difference that divided them, and the dark understanding that not even this was forever. Not in Gotham. In Gotham nothing was forever. Everything was a bullet away, a gust of wind away, from an end. From sinking forgotten back into the dark belly of the city.

 

Together they came down from the high of shared pleasure and slowly untangled themselves. Selina pushed him back onto the gargoyle and fell into her knees to clean him with a playful flick of her tongue before standing, retrieving her whip from where she’d apparently hung it off the gargoyle wing, and pulling her cat ear hood back over her head.

 

He watched as she slid smoothly around him, stood on the horned head of the stone monster, and wordlessly -- and without bothering to zip up her costume -- dove with all the grace of an Olympic swimmer into the darkness beyond.

 

No goodbyes.

 

He heard the faint crack of her whip as it found her anchor somewhere on the opposite building.

 

He turned back towards his city. Standing tall, dark, and dangerous despite all that tried to bring her down. Standing strong despite the violence, death, and darkness that lurked in her streets. Standing like a siren in the blackness of unlit waves.

 

Gotham.

 

Beautiful, broken, and bleeding.

 

Dark, dangerous, demanding.

 

Gotham. Holding her breath in the ongoing war.

 

For her, for Gotham, he could afford no other.

 

He knew it and so did she. She'd made a simular bargin with the city years before. Not one of protection, not one of dedication; but of adversary. An unspoken pledge to strip the soul sucking city of everything she could before it claimed her as well. Between him, her, and Gotham, there wasn't room for anything else between them. Nothing but animalistic dances shared on the edge of the abyss.


	5. The Princess and The Pilot

 

“You’re late.”

 

Steve looked up, frowned as he saw her still in her armour, and kicked the door closed behind him.

 

“I know,” he began and tossed his keys into the bowl on the table. They landed with a loud, jarring, clatter.

 

“You were meant to finish at midnight,” Diana reminded him.

 

“I know.”

 

“It’s a quarter past three.”

 

More defiantly. “I know.”

 

His clothes were rumbled and worn, chin covered with a dusting of sandy stumble, and face etched with new lines. Beneath it, however, his eyes burnt with the same lazy intelligence that they always had. Highlighted by the grey, flecked, colour of his eyes and the short flare of pale lashes that framed them.

 

“I was waiting for you,” she said.

 

His gaze faltered. “I know.”

 

“I ordered dinner.”

 

Uncomfortably. “I know.”

 

Despite the wear of his work he was handsome. His brows were straight, sure, and over a pair of defiantly bright eyes. His lips narrow, neat, and pliable as they moved through a reflex twitch of guilt. His body heavily built and beautiful in the strange sharp way only a man’s could be.

 

“You know what’s going to happen now,” she murmured softly.

 

His eyes flicked back to hers. Sharp, strong, and yet flavoured with a spark of nervous hope.

 

“I know?” he whispered uncertainly.

 

She stepped forward and roughly ran her fingers along the shape of his unshaven jaw, seized his chin, and dragged him forward in a plundering, punishing, kiss. He shivered violently before moaning softly and opening his mouth obediently to her penetrative press of tongue. Their bodies crushed together, lips moved in sync, and hips rocked with hungry promise. He tried to wrap his arms around her and she quickly removed her lips and squeezed his jaw in warning.

 

“You know the rules,” she whispered.

 

“I know,” he confirmed with a flicker of reluctance and lowered his arms.

 

She released his chin, eyed him critically, and then jerked her head towards the bedroom. “Naked, face down.”

 

His face flushed, tongue danced out to stroke his lips, and eyes lit with a violent mix of emotion. Obediently, he moved into the bedroom, shedding clothes on route.

 

She took her time. Finished watching the show he had interrupted and chewed thoughtfully at the cooling crust of pizza that was all that remained of what was to be their shared dinner. He would wait. He knew he owed her this. He knew the consequences of disobedience. So he would wait. He would lie, face down, and wait for her to decide it was time to take him.

 

The late night drama cut to a news report detailing, among other things, the shooting at Gotham yesterday. No one had managed to get footage, which was fortunate, but as usual there were a number of witnesses with a collection of different version of events. None of them true.

 

A collection of moderately powerful villains had attacked a lab and workshop in downtown Gotham, attempted to steal an assorted number of untested industrial equipment, and managed to wound a number of members of the Justice League as they made their unprofitable escape. It had been a surprise to find the more powerful adversaries when they all expected a mere gunman but they had been victorious despite false preconceptions.

 

The more worrying factor was the question why the rag tag team of villains had attempted to steal the machinery in the first place. There was nothing of offensive or defensive value among what they had attempted to take. Nor would such a theft usually require such an entourage of villains.

 

And now Steve was late back from work.

 

She knew he possessed a place within the military she was unaware of, knew he worked secretively to keep the country safe, and guessed it likely what the Justice League had dusted off as a minor shoot out and attempted robbery had in fact been something darker, deeper.

 

As far as the Justice League knew nothing was taken.

 

Steve’s late return home suggested otherwise.

 

It was hard sometimes but she couldn’t question him. Couldn’t violate his privacy like that. Couldn’t undermine his work for a faction not her own. Not if they were to be together.

 

She would respect his secrets just as he respected hers.

 

Despite common gossip her lasso was a violation reserved for the most heinous criminals.

 

That didn’t mean, however, she couldn’t take some satisfaction from his absence at dinner. Satisfaction in making him wait; face down, for her attentions. Satisfaction in making him squirm and beg. Satisfaction in taking him as hers.

 

She stood, turned off the TV, and strode into the bedroom.

 

Steve lay as instructed, face down, with his arms folded uncertainly under his forehead. Naked the simple beauty of his body was revealed in uninhibited detail. Broad shoulders tapered down to narrow hips, well formed rounded muscle hung off the sharp shape of bone, and long legs lay invitingly wide across stark white sheets. He seemed to sense her presence and shivered. She watched the movement trickle down around the shaped flesh with raw appreciation.

 

She stripped in silence.

 

He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the mattress shift under her weight but remained as still as she explored his body. Her hands slid down the smooth lines of his back, grasped the firm shape of his arse, and roughly palmed the flesh of his thighs. Moved down to lightly brush by the back of his knees, trace the muscle in his calf, and fist the sole of his foot. When his breathing began to hiss through his teeth she crawled back up his body to grind against him and seize his hips in her grasp. She stopped as he shifted hungrily against the mattress and leant forward to sink her teeth into his shoulder in a small, silent, warning. He whined softly but held still.

 

Steve had always been a special kind of man.

 

He was the first she had known after he crash landed onto the island of the Amazons years before. Cocky, bold, and carrying a speech diluted with a tangle of strange words, phrases, and a jarring accent; he had been different. His features alien in their hard shape, body grotesque in its masculine form, and voice gravely but still – like everything else about him – strangely disgustingly alluring.

 

When he took her to the world of man she had come to know others. Men with proud features, flat bodies, and voices like the growling of a hunting wild cat. But when Steve called her princess his low teasing drawl she had known he was something special. Something she could share her life with. Something she could claim as her own. Something that, under all the bravado, wanted her to. Wanted her to have him, use him, and control him with a sexual authority still on the fridge of man’s society despite its leaking popularity.

 

She tweaked his hip.

 

“Up.”

 

He rocked onto his knees and elbows and looked over his shoulder with heavy lidded eyes. The stress of the day was melting from his features, the tight line of his lips transforming into open mouthed desire, and the stark grey of his eyes alight with undisguised, nervous, want.

 

Because whatever he did. Whatever organisation he managed, whatever program he ran, whatever machine he flew… whatever he was in charge of… he could forget about with her. He could give away control and relax with her. Share with her. Share everything with her without saying a word. Just as she could share with him. Let go with him. Step outside the constraints of her secret identity, the regulations on women in his society, and her role within the league to just be herself.

 

She pushed a thigh between his legs, wrapped a fist around his penis, and stroked him in time with a hard, heavy, grind. Crushed his balls against him, parted his legs, and roughly thumbed the head of his cock as he began to leak pearly white drops of pre-come across her fingers.

 

“Angel,” he gasped.

 

“Shh…” she squeezed him and rocked against him with enough force to knock a strangled gasp of pain from his throat. “Not a sound. Not until I say.”

 

He gritted his teeth and nodded.

 

Remained silent even as she rolled him unceremoniously onto his back, straddled him, and sank down to encompass his swollen member. She pinned down his arms with enough force to give a superhuman pause, ground her hips against his, and muttered a string of non finished sentences as she felt a knot of need coil and tighten within her. His brow pleated beautifully, two high points of colour bloomed like roses on his cheeks, and his throat worked swallowing all the sounds he was forbidden from making.

 

She watched in fascination, feeling her arousal sting at the sight, as he twisted under her hold, bucked hopelessly against the unnaturally strong press of her pelvis, and blinked up at her with undisguised release. His muscles shivered, lips worked, and the last of the day’s stress finally began to leak from his features.

 

“You were late,” she whispered.

 

He blinked up at her, not sure if he was allowed to speak.

 

“I should leave you. Should tie you up and leave you here.” She closed her eyes and groaned as a flesh flush of wet warmth trickled from her. “I should punish you.” She began to ride him in proper, sighing with every stroke of her hips as it slid his engorged length against the swollen head of her clitoris. “But you’re so pretty, Steve. So fucking pretty.”

 

Exotic, masculine, hard.

 

“So hard not to fuck you.” She gasped. “Fuck you in every way. Fuck your pretty face. Fuck you till the sun comes up.”

 

 “Yes…” he groaned.

 

She slapped him. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” She panted.

 

He flashed the cocky grin that had stolen her attention when they first met on the golden shores of Paradise. Wavering through the broken flickers and flinches of need. “Punish me, Angel?”

 

She slammed her hips down and he cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He came. Filled her with a warm gush of liquid. She closed her eyes and moaned as she felt him tense and relax below her.

 

“You can bet on it.”

 

She dragged herself off him, crawled up his body and pressed the hot steaming wetness of her opening down onto his face. He lunged forward eagerly to lap hungrily at the mix of fluids, the open folds, and swollen peak of her cleft. Worked his tongue with messy, needy, movements as she thrust into his face.

 

“Till dawn,” she panted as her orgasm built and burst within her. Started as a tight ache in her abdomen and ballooned out like fire in her veins. Hot, heavy, and only the first as he obediently sucked, licked, and tongued her opening.

 

Good. So good...

 

“Till dawn.”


	6. Of Kansas and Krypton

He felt the sunlight spill in through the open window and onto his skin. A warm, virgin, shower of light that brought with it an invigorating flush of energy as the sun crested the horizon and looked down lovingly on the shining city below. The polished peaks of Metropolis’s iconic skyline.

 

He arched off the bed, floated into the air, and stretched as the warmth flooded his veins. Power. Strength. Wholeness. Rightness. Light.

 

A large book thudded against the back of his head.

 

He blinked and looked at the mattress below. Lois sat naked on the pure white bedding, dark hair rumbled around her face, and blue eyes glaring up at him in fierce challenge.

 

“Either get back down here or surrender the sheet.”

 

The bed sheet, still wrapped around his body, hung like a curtain over her beautifully exposed form.

 

“Did you just throw a book at me?”

 

“You’re invulnerable,” she reminded him huffily. “And I’m getting cold.”

 

“Sorry,” he chuckled and sunk so she could snatch the fabric and stubbornly curl back up in it. Apparently intent on sleeping in.

 

He floated down till he was less then an inch above her and began nuzzling and kissing her soft pink flesh. Breathed in the soft, sweet, almost floral scent of the woman. Gently touched the small smooth curves of her body with an almost religious fascination.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Planted a warm kiss onto the cool length of her throat.

 

She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “Who needs a weatherman when you have a solar powered alien that gets a hard on at every clear sunrise?”

 

He withdrew. “I do not.”

 

“You do, Smallville, and you know it.”

 

He looked down at her, hurt, and she rolled her eyes. “After everything that happened yesterday I thought you would just want to… bask.”

 

“Do you want me to… bask?”

 

“I wouldn’t mind a little basking,” she conceded.

 

“Oh.”

 

He dropped back onto the mattress beside her and tried to arrange himself so hide the half hard length of his member while also exposing as much of his flesh to the comforting blanket of sunlight as he could. His cells shivered with excitement at the contact, every fibre of the silky bedding below him became instantly apparent as it slid sensually against his skin, and he felt his body heave with tingling excess power. He buried his face in a pillow, stroked the body of the mattress, and marvelled at the slightly different texture of every cell, every atom, of the world embracing him. Everything heightened by a fresh touch of morning sunlight.

 

Lois groaned, rolled over, and glared at him. “That’s not how you bask.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re practically humping the bed.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You’re not sorry,” she accused.

 

He flashed a grin.

 

“Bastard.”

 

He shuffled closer to her and nipped playfully at her earlobe. Her pulse fluttered faster next to her collarbone, skin warmed ever so slightly under his deliberately gentle touch, and lips parted in a small treacherous sigh.

 

“I wish I could feel sunlight like you do,” she groaned and pushed him away. “What’s it like when it rises?”

 

“It’s like being aware of only this room,” he whispered against her skin. “And then suddenly your eyes open and you can see the whole city. Feel it.”

 

“I thought you were always aware of the whole _world_ ,” she countered.

 

“Not the _whole_ world,” he said sheepishly.

 

“Last night you complained about a party in Australia.”

 

“They were very loud,” he defended himself. “I was trying to listen to the ball game, the government agents who were all over the shooting, and the sound of your heart.”

 

She closed her eyes and moved to drape and arm almost possessively over him. “I love you sometimes. Did you find out what happened?”

 

“Nebraska won.”

 

“In the shooting.”

 

“Oh. The villains were a cover for another villain, Copperhead of all people, to distract us as he tried to steal a supply of kryptonite from the workshop.”

 

She stiffened. “Did he get it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Steve Trevor was able to lead a team in, capture him, and commandeer the stone. I’ll ask Batman or Arrow to steal it later. Then we can get rid of it.”

 

She pursed her lips as she digested this information. “So, another small time criminal with a half cocked plan foiled by the square jawed forces of good.” She turned the sharp intelligence of her eyes onto him. “Normal night after all, huh?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Her lips were soft, full, and moved with surprising skill against his. Her hands reached up to cup the sides of his face, fingers toyed with the curls of dark hair spilling across his brow, and the cool touch of her wedding band pressed against the flesh of his cheek.

 

“Does this mean no more basking?” He breathed hopefully as their lips parted.

 

She licked her lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”

 

“Perhaps?”

 

“Can you do anything to convince me?” She asked playfully.

 

He moved towards her, wrapped her body in his arms, and lifted them off the mattress.

 

“Wait! Fuck!”

 

He carried her outside in a blur of movement, the sheet billowed from her hips like the elaborate tail feathers of a bright bird, and the morning sunlight embraced them in brilliant burst of light. Below the city sparkled gold in the early morning light.

 

“Clark!” Lois gasped as she clung to his arms. “I’m naked!”

 

“So am I.”

 

“What if someone looks up?”

 

“We’re high enough they won’t see.”

 

“We’re…” she looked down over his shoulder. “Oh… yeah… yeah we’re high… good thing I… haven’t had breakfast…” Deliberately turned her gaze towards him. Couldn’t hide the spark of excitement that filtered across her eyes. “So, this is what sunlight feels like, huh?”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s like being aware of only our bedroom and suddenly you open your eyes to the whole city?” She teased.

 

The wind snatched the hot touch of her breath away, sent her hair dancing around her face, and brought a violent shiver to her body. He raised his own core temperature and groaned in delight as she pressed herself against him. Cool lips pushed hungrily against his own bringing with them the high spiced taste of her adrenaline. As erotic, beautiful, and flirtatious as the woman wrapped in his arms.

 

“God,” he gasped as their lips parted.

 

“Lois,” she corrected him cheekily. Her voice trembled with a mix of excitement and arousal. “It’s a common mistake.”

 

Her heart hammered hard against his chest, her hands gripped him with enough force to be painful if he were human, and her hips rocked with greedy need against his erect penis.

 

He let go of her torso to seize and guide those hips. She gasped nervously, looked into his eyes, and pushed a fleeting, frantic, kiss onto his lips as he slowly entered her.

 

This was always slow. No matter the speed of seduction, no matter the savagery of their want, no matter the heat of their desire; she was small, tight, and fragile and he large, unyielding, and as hard as steel. So they went slow. He held her and she set the pace as she slowly adjusted and took him in deeper with a series of low gasps, and cries.

 

The sun flashed of the perfect curve of her naked body, lit dark red highlights in her hair, and set the soft familiar blue of her eyes alight. Her throat was bare and beautiful. Her breasts firm yet soft and peaked with a pair of erect nipples. Her legs cool and constricting around his hips. The tight heat of her entrance squeezed his penis as she worked her way down his length in a slow grind. A trickle of hot lubrication spilt down his thigh as she stretched to take him.

 

“Clark,” she moaned. “Fuck… Clark…”

 

She finally sat down on him and stopped to allow her body to adjust a moment longer before planting her hands on his shoulders and riding him. Riding him with a painfully slow roll of hips that instantly brought a broken moan from his throat.

 

“Lois…”

 

He felt himself begin to slip and forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t risk what would happen if he miscalculated while he wasn’t in compete control. He couldn’t be sure an encouraging squeeze or buck of hip wouldn’t shatter her bones. He couldn’t be certain a wanton moan wouldn’t come with a shock of fatal ice breath or a loving look turn into a bloody blaze of red.

 

So he closed his eyes, turned his head away, and grunted in hopeless helpless pleasure as she slid her bare folds up and down his shaft. Each stoke was so broad he almost fell out of her on each retreat, each roll of her hip brought him slamming back into the warm wet cavern of her body, and each wild cry of pleasure snatched at by the early morning wind. Every cell of her body touched him individually and as a whole. Every electron bumped against his in a buzz of untapped power.

 

Every atom distinguishable and different but also part of one single entity.

 

Lois Lane.

 

The woman who had stolen his heart with little more than a cocked eyebrow and a dismissive demoralising comment on the quality of his work. The woman who had dragged him along in her tailwinds for years no matter what suit he wore. The woman who had landed a superman portrait with drawn on glasses on his desk and whispered a delighted ‘got ya’ in his ear. The woman who had bent a pair of scissors on his hair when he tried to deny the accusation. The woman who was more powerful than him in every way that mattered.

 

The woman he loved.

 

The woman he would always love.

 

Lois Lane.

 

She cried out. A single, musical, note of pleasure and hitched herself higher on his legs to ride him faster. He felt her constrict and shiver around his length, felt the flood of wet spill over his swollen head, and felt her walls flush hot with her coming orgasm. He carefully reached out and with a touch so gentle it wouldn’t startle an animal, slid his hands along the sweat touched shape of her body. Explored the rounded shape of her hips, glided over the slim indent of her waist, and cupped the firm flesh of her breasts. Reached up to tangle his fingers in the soft tresses of dark hair, feel the moist wet shape of her full lips, and sigh as her eyelashes dusted against the body of his palm.

 

They came together.

 

Her voice rose in an exquisite crescendo of pleasure and he groaned with a blast of air that parted the cloud floating above them. Blinked his eyes opened and watched as she fell to lick, suck, and kiss at his skin. Gentle. Gentle as if she had to be. As if she could damage him. From between their conjoined bodies an obscene amount of ejaculate flowed.

 

“God, I love you,” she whispered; her voice shivering with pleasure. “My sun god from Kansas.”

 

“Krypton first,” he panted.

 

“Don’t try it,” she grinned. “You’re a hick first and foremost, Smallville, and you know it.”

 

He smiled docilely up at her. Wondered how a single woman could be so beautiful bathed in sunlight, surrounded by the flowing white remains of their bed sheet, and dangling her feet over the drop below them; her previous uncertainty forgotten in the wake of her orgasm.

 

“Now,” she commanded and raked a finger through her windswept hair. “We bask.”

 

He laughed as she flopped gracelessly down on top of him and buried her face into the warm crook in his neck. Purred with satisfaction as he increased his temperature yet again and turned to face the loving gaze of the sun as it rose higher in the stark sky of dawn.

 

The night was over and it was one more morning he would never forget.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and any feedback, general comments, or kudos you could give would be awesome. I'm still learning and every little bit of 'yay, nay, and hey...' really helps.
> 
> A big thanks for reading! Hope you're all having an awesome day.


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